Page 59 of Bloody Black

“ I wondered if you were really dead.” He looks older than I remember—deeper lines around his mouth, maybe. His eyes haven’t changed: those are still as calculating and soulless as they ever were.

“I dreamed of you.”

Sunlight pools at his feet, halos him, as if the day itself doesn’t dare lay hands on his skin. He’s wearing black breeches, along with boots so polished they might have been my father’s.

Inside the room, the seamstress stands paralyzed, her face frozen in horror. She’s still holding the measuring tape in her hand. Her lip is already swollen, bloody red, and I wonder how many bruises he’s given her. Given others.

“Get out.” He doesn’t even look at her. “She’ll do the rest.”

The hell, I will . I won’t put a blue coat on him. I’d rather die. To see Venka in my insignia, even though he murdered my father and me? The audacity. The nerve. The only thing he’ll be getting from me is a shroud.

The seamstress approaches, lip trembling.

With a soft smile, I lean close, keep my voice low. “Go. I’ll handle this.”

The seamstress’s face is so full of gratitude that it would be comical if it weren’t so terribly sad. She leaves us, and the click of the door as it closes behind her sounds like a gunshot.

Finally, we’re alone.

His scent hits me first: musk, sweat, something bitter beneath it, old blood.

I freeze. My throat closes. For a heartbeat, I’m back at my wedding night, the silk of my nightgown torn, the wooden boards of the dock abrading my skin.

Like a vulture, he preyed upon our generosity, then tore the flesh from our bones.

He inspects his elbow with a sigh. “She stabbed me with her needle again. At this rate, I’m more likely to die from incompetence than a war.”

I’ll be happy to remedy that.

“They always send the pretty ones to handle my fittings. As if their beauty makes up for how useless they are. As if it would soften me.”

His message is clear: If I give him an opportunity, he will certainly try to kill me. After all, he’s already done it once.

I fake a look of fear, my eyes darting. He’s unarmed. His sash, his belt, his flintlock, and sword are across the room, well out of reach.

“I told William not to marry her. It’s bad luck to wed in the same family.

But he likes his women broken—easier to mold.

” He cocks his head, admiring his reflection in the gilded mirror over my shoulder.

“Disappointing, really. I expected more from the girl who will be queen. But then, I suppose I should be used to that.”

A laugh coils in my throat, but I swallow it.

Not yet.

Not yet.

“The palace mice make more noise than you, princess.” Venka picks at a loose thread on the sleeve of his shirt. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

He speaks with the casual ease of a man who won’t be denied. The kind of man who desires two things: silence and submission.

Swallowing audibly, I lift my chin. “I can think of many things. In fact, that’s why I’m here.”

“Ha. You think I don’t know about those gifts you sent?” He stalks forward, and it takes everything in me not to flinch. “You’re here to kill William and me, the same as you killed Baldric, Roger, and Soren. Do you deny it?”

“No,” I admit. “If I said anything else, you’d know I was lying.”

“The last time we met, you were a girl. A stupid, selfish, silly girl.” A muscle flickers in his cheek. “You’ve changed since then.”

Venka steps back. “Have a drink with me, Queen Anne. Let us talk, like old friends.”

Intrigued, I tilt my head. “You won’t be killing me?”

“Not immediately.” Venka walks to the large, wide windows, stares out at the sea. “Perhaps I’d like to hear whatever it is you want to say.”

What I want to say is his eulogy. I’ll bury him in a shallow grave, then when I’m done, I’ll spit on it.

But for now, however, I will play his game. Venka is strong. He’s faster, bigger, and far more cunning than most of my foes. I’m not a fool, and I’m not completely certain that I will win. Therefore, catching him off guard is the best way to kill him.

Expressionless, I select a pair of thread scissors from the table. Delicate, shaped like a bird’s wing, they nestle into my palm.

His muscles flex as he rolls one shoulder, and I think: that’s where I could strike . Right there. Right in that dip between his shoulder blades. Or no. His throat. His jugular will bleed most spectacularly.

I crack my neck, then make my way across the room. Careful to stand just behind him.

“I first met your father when I was taken by his army. One of the unlucky, fifteen men left out of a village that used to have more than a thousand. Caraveen.” He clicks his tongue, studies his signet ring.

“You probably don’t even know what that word means.

We’re almost extinct now, thanks to King Francis.

He realized that if he killed all our women, we could not reproduce. Ergo… no mate for me.”

The silence between us is long.

“I’m sorry, was I supposed to be moved?”

“Just telling you the truth. A thing that’s always been in short supply in your kingdom. Amongst you humans .” He says the word with distaste.

My heart gives a painful lurch, a tiny roar in my chest. From here, I could throw a knife, lodge it next to his spine. Fire a bullet into his head. If I had my flintlock, that is.

“Have you ever read the parable,” Venka goes on, “of the sparrow who tried to peck out the eye of a giant? ”

I hum under my breath. “Are you mistaking yourself for something mythical?”

“Are you mistaking yourself for an actual threat?” Venka smiles grimly as he glances over his shoulder. “King William will be remembered for his long reign. For bringing peace to a war-torn region. And you will be remembered for nothing, by no one.”

He turns his back on me again, stupidly confident. That’s his mistake. The fatal one.

My grip tightens around the scissors, and I swing.

It’s a clean arc, all muscle and vengeance, aimed at the spine of the man who stabbed me. Who laughed while I bled out.

The wind whistles as my blade slices through the air. Yet somehow, Venka turns just in time, his arm catching mine with a sickening crack of bone against steel. The scissors clatter to the floor.

“Predictable, Anne. Just like William always said.” Venka grins like he’s just opened a long-lost gift.

Not surprised. Not angry. And definitely not injured.

Instead, he’s thrilled to have another chance at me.

His fist cracks across my cheek, and the world tilts sideways. My head snaps back. My body hits the floor with a grunt. Before I can blink, he’s on me, knees digging into my ribs and one hand fisted in my collar. His other hand squeezing my throat like he’s trying to pluck out my voice.

His face is inches from mine, pale eyes wild with glee. No fear, just hunger.

I try to pretend I’m panicking. Meanwhile, internally, I celebrate. He’s right where I want him. I act alarmed, clawing and scrabbling at his arms. Making a show of kicking and choking.

Venka smiles. “Miss me?”

I halfheartedly shove my knee upward. He easily dodges and pins it to the floor.

“Mmmm… now. I have you all to myself. I can take my time.” Venka leans close, inhaling sharply against my throat. He leans closer. “Would you like me to fuck your corpse? Hang it from the castle railing?”

No, but I’d like to see you try.

He grips me tightly, but I’m still not worried. I’ve been killed more times than I care to admit, and even if Rokhur said I’m on my own, we both know she’s lying. She’d never allow us to get this far, this close, and then have nothing to show for it.

My vision tunnels. My limbs go heavy. Memories drown me, pull me under. Back on the docks, the mist on my face. Him choking me until I pass out. He was too strong, too vicious. I couldn’t get him off of me.

My limbs jerked uselessly, weak as seaweed.

My vision dimmed at the edges, the world shrinking down to the exact pressure of his hand on my throat.

I wanted to scream, but all I could do was kick—feebly, stupidly.

My mind is collapsing in on itself, reliving the memory of how he flipped me over and pressed my face into the dock.

I think of the sea underneath.

Everything is different this time, though. Not just because I’m much stronger than I once was, but because he already killed me.

He already hurt me once; he won’t do it again.

This time it’s light outside. I can see the muscles of his neck, the glint of his eyes. The blueish tint of his lips. This time I’m toying with him, waiting until the exact moment when he thinks he’s succeeded—

The door handle rattles.

Venka’s gaze flicks to the side, clearly annoyed that our little reunion is being interrupted. He doesn’t, however, loosen his grip. Apparently, whoever walks in will just have to watch him choke me.

The door crashes open. Someone shouts, and there’s a flurry of activity off to my right. And Teach, Teach, charges forward,launching a furious kick.

Oh shit. What is he doing here? I had him, I had it under control—

And now, Teach, in a misguided effort to save me, is going to ruin everything!

His boot hits Venka squarely in the jaw, and my captor releases my neck; that’s how surprised he is. But he’s up on his feet far too quickly, barreling into Teach, shoving him into the wall.

Punching him viciously.

While Venka has his arm raised, Teach plunges a knife into his side, between his ribs. It’s a victory. The cut is deep, aimed perfectly.

However, Venka is strong. Too strong. As much as I warned my crew, they probably thought I was overestimating him… but no. He’s still one of the most dangerous men I’ve ever met. Still in peak form. Blackbeard, I may be, but it’s Venka who is the real killer in the room.

Venka grasps his hand, forcing Teach to pull his knife free. The two men wrestle for control, matching their strength. It’s not equal, though, not even close. Knowing he’s cornered, Teach kicks away from the wall, grappling, each testing their strength against the other.

The muscles in their forearms strain, both gritting their teeth.

Teach, dark-haired, dark-eyed, is the same height.

They’re the same build. I never noticed it before, because their demeanors are so different.

But Venka, whom I always thought of as huge and intimidating, is the exact size as Teach.

The same broad shoulders, the same weight in their step.

I’d never noticed it before. That uncanny symmetry.

When I open my eyes again, Venka has Teach pressed into the window, just next to the balcony doors. Teach has the knife, but Venka has a strong grip, and he’s twisting it, re-angling it.

Taking control. I can see everything as it happens.

How the sunlight flashes on the blade as it turns.

How the balcony doors open outward, giving way under the pressure of two male bodies against them.

The slice as the tip of the knife sinks into his white shirt. Deeper. Deeper. Until it’s at the hilt. Venka keeps pushing. Past the knife’s guard. Past the grip. Until finally, the entire knife is inside him.

Stunned, Teach stares down, hands hovering over his chest. Blank. He stumbles backward, crimson streaming down his chest.

And then he looks at me. Pleading.

Venka shoves him hard, sending Teach toppling backward into space, over the railing.

“No!” I shout, staggering to my feet. There’s a lamp in my hand, and I smash it into pieces against the back of Venka’s bald head before he can face me. Anything to slow him down .

He turns, bringing his hand to the back of his head, and it comes away bloody.

Blinking, he stumbles forward, dazed, then trips over the edge of the rug. His forehead cracks against the edge of a stone vase.

Not willing to miss my opportunity, I kick him. Viciously, over and over, with my pert little satin slippers. I kick him until I actually break my toe, and even then, I consider continuing.

When I stop, I figure he’ll get up. Shout at me. But he doesn’t. Venka doesn’t fight back in any way. In fact, his massive back is scarily still. Not because he’s tricking me, but because Venka is dead at my feet.

“This cannot be,” I say, followed by a curse, and lean down to roll him over.

Dead.

Not from my blade, not from Teach, but from hitting his head on a statue. He’s dead, and he hasn’t experienced even half of the suffering I had planned. All the rage I’ve carried, all the vengeance I stored… for this . Venka dying by accident .

I sway on my feet, chest heaving. My fingers tremble with the shock of it. I’m so angry my hands tremble, but then, out of nowhere, I hear someone groaning.

Oh gods! Teach! He went over the railing. I’d assumed he’d fallen into the sea.

My legs move before my brain can catch up, striding across the blood-slick carpet and through the doors. I look over the ledge, exhaling with extreme relief. For there, just a few feet below, lies Teach in the snow .

His limbs are twisted like a broken marionette. Crimson blooms around him like a rose.

But in a style that is purely Domino’s doing, Teach grimaces and gives me a thumbs up.